“you’re makin’ a habit out of this, kid.” frank’s voice is a low, rough rumble through the speaker of your phone, heavy with the gravel of a man who was already halfway asleep before you rang him. you can hear the faint rustle of his bedsheets, the heavy, deliberate sigh he lets out into the receiver. he’s your dad’s oldest friend — the man who practically watched you grow up — and he knows damn well he shouldn't be answering the phone at two in the morning just to hear you breathe like this. but he did.
you whimper into the line, the sound small and completely desperate as your fingers work frantically beneath the waistband of your shorts. you’re so slick, so entirely consumed by the ache between your thighs, and no matter what you do, you can't seem to touch the spot right. “frank, please… i can’t— i need you. i tried, but it’s not working. please.”
there’s a long, heavy beat of silence on his end. you can practically feel the weight of his gaze through the network, the sheer gravity of his restraint cracking. he knows the power he has over you. he knows he’s the only man alive who can actually fix this for you, the only one big enough, rough enough, to make the noise in your head stop.
“you touchin’ at yourself right now?” he rasps, his tone shifting into something darker, a command that makes your stomach flip. you hear the thud of his boots hitting the floor on his end. he’s getting up. “tell me what you’re doing to yourself while you’re callin’ your daddy’s best friend, hm? say it for me.”
“i’m… i’m touchin’ myself, frank. for you. it’s only for you,” you sob out, your hips arching off your mattress as you rub against your own fingers, pretending they’re his heavy, calloused hands instead. “i’m so needy… please come over. he’s out of town, he won’t know. just come fix it. please.”
a dark, rough chuckle vibrates through the phone, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. “you’re a bad girl, you know that? a real brat.” you hear his truck keys jingle on the counter, the heavy front door of his place creaking open. he’s not even trying to fight it anymore. “keep your hand right there. don’t you dare stop until I get my hands on you."
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